A gorilla's existential crisis

fighting

A ribbon of smoke billowed an apology between them
Hostility temporarily suspended
As they eyed one another from behind their cherry lit ends
the deer head peered upon the silence
that smeared the air between them
The saxophone mere white noise
unable to penetrate the moment
Only turning their heads from one another
to watch her feet burdened in high heels
as she walked towards the one she chose
which wasn’t either of them
Their nostrils flared
and behind gritted teeth they faked pleasantries
Before taking it outside in the street
Noses cracked and busted lips
Hatred snaking through cigarette mist
Till the bobby comes on the beat
To resume assumed peace

We’ve all got strings
Being played
How did I know
It would end this way?
Bust a lip with black eyes
Broken nose
Packs of ice
Resting on my bones
Till another fight

When will my strings
Be played right
Trying not to be a victim
But I’m feeling dark tonight
One drink for the road
This road I’m on
Mustn’t lose my grip
On the wheel, heading through
A town I know will never heal

You kissed me on the lips
With your fist
How did we get into this tryst
Writing scripts and drawing battleships
Our love written on knuckles
With the letters H.A.T.E
How long will we rock this ship
Courting resentment
Revulsion will marry us
Till death do us part
This love will carry us
Further into the dark

Deliver the crime
Taking a shine
To his eyes
He can’t argue
Gasping for air
As the tilt of the world
Doesn’t care for fair
Hate written on fists
Waiting for the next on the hit list
To be fatally kissed

We have battles with our demons
Our own wars in our heads
Blood, sweat and tears today are still shed
But instead of world war
It’s hell inside our minds
With all of these tyrants
Pulling the wool over our eyes
We see him in the mirror
But we don’t look
We think the enemy is someone else
And that’s why you miss your own left hook
The enemy is within us
And to think he can be defeated
Is a lie we’re sold
All we can do is keep fighting
Some days we’ll win
But the fight is never over
Until you take your last swing.

There is an element of truth to it, for sure. But I see all these people competing who suffered the most, and I wonder if this idea of being heroic and suffering to create character is part of the problem? Not that I have a solution, just that it’s a problem I’ve recognised in the human condition. I get the sense some humans feel they haven’t suffered enough, though it seems counterintuitive to want more suffering it seems like people are jealous of people who have gained ‘character’ from suffering.

If I can be oppressed (or claim to be oppressed), then I have something to fight (or something to claim to be fighting).

The paradox in all this? There is suffering in the conquest for more ‘worthy’ suffering…..